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Amma hadn't slept properly in weeks. The Chennai summer pressed against our apartment windows while she scrolled through her phone, uploading videos of traditional kolam designs. Each morning brought a few rupees, then more. Her hands, stained with rice flour and turmeric, trembled with possibility. "Look," she whispered, showing me the verified badge. My grandmother's ancient patterns, documented in our family for generations, finally finding value. She taught me our Tamil heritage while earning enough for medicine. That night, she slept deeply, peacefully. Nine hours of rest earned through sharing who we'd always been.